


The Fourth

by bluebellsandcocklesshells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon to include S9 stuff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebellsandcocklesshells/pseuds/bluebellsandcocklesshells





	The Fourth

“Cas, you’re not even an American.  Why do you care?”

Castiel looked up from his plastic bag of “guaranteed to amaze and thrill” fireworks.  He tilted his head and looked at Dean with confusion.

“But you are.  And this is an important holiday to you.  If it’s important to you, and to Sam, I feel like we should celebrate it.  Take every chance to rejoice in the greatest gift from God.”

“Yeah?  What’s that asshole ever given us?”

“Life.  There is no greater gift.”

“That’s debatable,” Dean muttered.

“Dean,” Cas said, that concerned note of caring in his voice that made him sound hurt and broken.  Dean hated that sound.

“Come on, Cas.  How’d you even latch onto this holiday anyway?  Why would celestial beings know anything about national holidays?”

“It’s part of your heaven.”

“Say what?”

“That time you were dead—well, one of the many, but the time that I was there with you.  We traveled through the various memories of yours and Sam’s heavens.  One of your fondest memories is sharing the Fourth of July with your brother.”

“That’s—” Dean blushed, remembering his trip through his heaven.  He wondered if Cas had seen them all.  Had seen him with his mother.  Had seen him with Rhonda Hurley.  Dean cleared his throat.  “It’s just a memory, Cas.  Not even a great one since the reason we were alone in that field is because Dad had ditched us again.”

“Oh.”  Cas looked down at the bag in his hands.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to remind you of bad memories.  It seems your heaven is nothing but bad memories.  Your parents fighting, stealing moments of fleeting happiness with your brother.  You would think that an omnipotent, all-powerful being could come up with a better paradise than that.”

“Well, we’ve already established your dad is a dick.”

Castiel swallowed and started to back away.  “You’re right.  I apologize again.  I won’t bother you anymore.”

He turned and started to leave the room, and Dean had a sickening feeling that he was going to leave the bunker and never “bother” them anymore _ever again_.  Dean hurried across the room and grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey wait, man.  I didn’t mean I want you to leave.  I want you to stay.  I’ve told you that already.  Several times.  But you always leave.”

“I…”

Cas trailed off and looked at him.  Dean looked away and grabbed the plastic bag.  He couldn’t look in Castiel’s eyes any more.  At least not if he wanted to keep surviving.  Keep functioning.  When had things gotten so fucked up between them?  It wasn’t about the lies and the mistrust and all the bullshit they had been through fighting their enemies.  It always seemed to come down to one of them saying “stay” and the other walking away.  There was probably a finite number of times they could do that and still be willing to accept the other when he finally came back.

“So what have you got in here?” Dean asked, searching for a distraction.

“The vendor assured me that they were the best fireworks for my situation.”

Dean held up some sparklers and a box of black snakes.

“Although,” Castiel said, looking up and remembering the encounter.  “I do wonder if he got the impression that you and Sam were children.”

Dean laughed softly and put the items back in the bag.  There wasn’t even a can to set on the ground and watch it spark fireworks into the air, let alone roman candles or fireworks that actually shot into the sky.

“Are these bad?” Castiel asked, and he looked so worried that he had failed Dean again in some way that Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him that sparklers were pretty lame.

“No, they’re good.  We can set them off.”

“Excellent.  I’ll get Sam.”

“We don’t need to—”

“Of course we do.  The memory is pleasant because you were together.  And I got these for Sam as well,” he finished with a hint of admonishment in his voice.

“Fine, fine, go get him.”

Dean groaned softly once he was out of the room.  If Sam teased him for indulging Cas he was going to put hot sauce in his shaving cream.  A minute later Castiel returned with Sam in tow.  Sam gave Dean a questioning look over the angel’s shoulder and Dean just waved him off, letting him know to just go with it.

“Alright,” Dean said, opening the box of sparklers.  “Anyone got a light handy?”

“Dean,” Castiel said in his _serious voice_.  “The box says to only light these outside in a clear, open area with a bucket of water nearby for disposal.”

Dean gave Cas a withering look.  Sam was failing miserably at hiding a smile.

“Yeah, Dean," Sam said with a teasing glint in his eye.  "We should follow the instructions.”

Dean snatched up the bag.  “Fine.  Someone find a lighter.”  He stomped out of the room and toward the stairs to the bunker door.

“I don’t understand his ire,” Castiel mumbled.  “The library is highly flammable.”

Sam chuckled.  “Don’t worry, Cas, you’re right.  We should do it outside.  He’s just being pissy because, well…at this point I think it’s just because he thinks he’s supposed to be pissy.”

“I like it better when he smiles,” Cas said as he began to climb the stairs.

Sam patted him on the back.  “Me too.”

He glanced over his shoulder.  “I like when you smile too, of course.”

“Of course,” Sam nodded back seriously, and then smiled behind his back.

Outside, Dean had taken up a post down the embankment next to the door.  There was a small thin stream of water running along the drainage ditch that he intended to put the used sparklers in.  Without a word, he passed out the small fireworks when the other two joined him.  Sam used his lighter to ignite the ends.  Then two grown men and an ancient angel stood in a grassy ditch holding sparklers that crackled softly and barely lit up their faces in the dark of the night.  After about thirty seconds, they fizzled out.

Cas gave his sparkler a small shake.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Dean confirmed.

“Well,” Sam said, getting out another sparkler and lighting it, “part of the fun is waving them around.”

Sam moved the sparkler in a random pattern and then made some intricate movements with his wrist.

“There?  See?  It spelled out Sam.”

“I didn’t see anything," Cas said.

“Well, it doesn’t actually write on the air or anything.  But it’s bright enough that the image kind of gets temporarily burned on your retinas, so it lingers long enough to see it all together, like a trail in the air.  See?”  He did the motions again.  “Sam.”

“I don’t see it,” Castiel repeated.  “My grace is able to compensate for this vessel’s inferior vision.  I see no trail.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll try again when it snows, Sammy.”

“Why would—”  Sam cut off as he saw and heard Dean’s amused snigger.  Of course, he was talking about writing his name in the snow.

“I don’t think my eyesight will be worse in the winter,” Castiel said.

“No, you—”

“Shut up, Dean.  Light another sparkler.”

They went through two packages of sparklers in less than ten minutes, but Castiel was pleased to see that Dean and Sam seemed to have some fun as they mock dueled with the tips.  They still seemed happy even when they got burned and cursed each other for their successful attacks.

When the fireworks were spent, Dean lined up the black snakes on the concrete of the drainage ditch and set them all alight.  The trio stood back and watched the sodium bicarbonate discs turn into ashy cylinders in a matter of ten seconds.

“Well,” Castiel mused.  “That was underwhelming.”

Dean chuckled and kicked the ash into the drain.  “Maybe next year we can get some real fireworks.”

“Yes, next year,” Castiel said earnestly.

Sam clapped Cas on the back.  “Thanks for getting these for us, Cas.  It was fun.  And brought back some good memories.”

“I’m glad.”

“Now, what say we go inside and make Dean make us some brats while we drink beer and sit on the porch?”

“The bunker doesn’t have a porch, Sam.”

“I know, man.  Reach into that pop culture packed skull of yours and find a Fourth of July movie.”

Cas fell back to walk beside Dean and whispered, “Is the porch some sort of reference to where paralyzed Vietnam veterans have to sit?”

“What?  No.  Don’t worry about it.  He’s just being an idiot.  Neither of you are sitting on anything and drinking beers while I cook,” he said louder.  “You can both help.”

Sam waved a hand in the air and got up the embankment first, leaving Dean and Cas in the illusion of privacy.

“Did you like the fireworks, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas.  You did good.”

Cas gave his trademarked lopsided smile and glanced at Dean.  Dean managed to meet his eyes.  He exhaled softly.  There, that wasn’t so bad.

“I really am looking forward to seeing different fireworks next year.”

Dean nodded.  “Hell, we can do ‘em tomorrow.  Everything will be on sale tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so, you probably shouldn’t leave tonight.  It’d just be easier if you stayed.  You know.  So we can do some more fireworks.”

“Okay.”

Cas smiled as he reached the top of the embankment.  He looked up into the random wildness of stars his father had created; the stars humans tried so hard to tame into constellations.  Then he glanced back at the Bunker door and the two men who stood in front of it.

“I should stay.”


End file.
